


Instead I made my bed with apathy

by thebooklord15



Category: Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Hopeful Ending, M/M, and birb man finally sorta acknoweldges his own feelings?, and hating that he has feelings for said birb man, basically blitzo feeling like he's not important to birb man, but it's fine because this is fanfiction and nobody gives a shit, ending up to interpertation, feelings of being unwanted, i got stumped on my other fic so here ya go, idk just read it if ya want, post-sex cigarette, sex alluded to but not shown, so this doesn't make that much sense in regards to canon anymore, the feeling right after sex, written before episode 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebooklord15/pseuds/thebooklord15
Summary: Just like every night before this one, Blitzo glared at the form next to him, already lulled into the bliss of slumber. He had never meant for things to turn out this way-he’d gotten the grimoire already, he didn’t need this man and from the way Stolas treated him it was clear he did not need the imp either.And yet.
Relationships: Blitzo/Stolas (Helluva Boss)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 202





	Instead I made my bed with apathy

After the heat, the passion, desperate kisses and hands that pulled closer and  _ closer _ until their bodies were wrapped so tightly around the other that they could scarcely draw breath, there would be silence.

Stolas would give him one last squeeze before slackening his grip, claws loosening and falling to his sides. His eyes, crimson vibrant jewels, would hide behind heavy eyelashes, as would his face, which would burrow deeply into the lavish pillow beneath him. Stolas’s voice-which had chanted his name as if it were a prayer and Blitzo his god mere  _ minutes _ ago-would not give him any further acknowledgement tonight. Only Stolas’s feathered back, much softer and warm then the blanket it peeked out from under, would allow itself to be seen.

These events happened like clockwork each time Blitzo bedded the owl, and tonight was no different. The imp served his purpose and ceased to exist after the fact. 

Just like every night before this one, Blitzo glared at the form next to him, already lulled into the bliss of slumber. He had never meant for things to turn out this way-he’d gotten the grimoire already, he didn’t need this man and from the way Stolas treated him it was clear he did not need the imp either.

And yet. 

And yet  _ every  _ time Stolas called, he answered.  _ Every _ time he crooned that he was  _ oh so lonely _ without his Blitzy, he came running.  _ Every _ time it ended tangled in Stolas’s sheets.

_ Every time _ he hoped, wished,  _ prayed  _ even for one word-one  _ look _ even- to be sent his way once they were done. Anything, anything that might have hinted that it meant something to him. That it had mattered to him. That _ he _ mattered to him.

Blitzo’s glare deepened. Stolas snored softly beside him, blissfully unaware of the murderous look he had drawn.

Blitzo closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again the heat was gone, melted down to forlorn longing.

He shouldn’t have let himself get so invested. He shouldn’t keep answering his calls. He shouldn’t keep waiting for something that would never happen.

What he should do is get up and leave, walk right those stupid ostentatious double doors and never come back, cleanse his mind of this horrible, beautiful  _ bastard _ of a man.

He should hate Stolas for putting him through all this.

As always, he did none of those things. Instead he shifted away from his lover, pulled the covers off of his bare form, fingers searching the nightstand for his lighter. It’s weight in his palm was the embrace of an old friend. He rose from the bed,  _ slowly _ , so the squeal of the springs would not wake his partner.

The floor is unforgiving and frozen underfoot. He gasped when he made contact, head snapping towards the sleeping form in the bed. It showed no sense of arousal. His stomach sank, strangely disappointed by this.

It wasn’t difficult to traverse the minefield of pants and shirts and shoes that littered the floor; he simply pictured himself on the tightrope from his circus days, precariously shuffling forward as if there was no net underneath him. 

His suit jacket was intertwined with Stolas’s undershirt. He scowled at the sight, plucking the fabric up with more force than necessary. It is minus one button, he noted as he slipped into it. Lost to the uncoordinated fumbling on this evening's endeavors.

Now somewhat covered he slipped out the balcony doors, shivering at the bite of the cold. He left the door cracked so he wouldn’t be locked out again. He couldn’t help but feel bad about letting the chill in-Stolas had silken sheets, which were pretty to  _ look _ at, but did a pretty shit job at holding heat.

Unlike most nights it was quiet outside. Calm, even. The  _ flick  _ and  _ swish  _ of his cigarette coming to life was almost deafening. A drag of it brought a familiar taste of ash to his lips. His lungs ached pleasantly as they were filled, soothed,  _ wanted _ by it.

For a moment all that existed in the world was that; Blitzo, the lit cigarette in his hand, warmth welcoming compared to the cold, and the rare stillness of a night in hell.

Then, softer than the whispering breeze, more tender than any kiss, Stolas spoke the word Blitzo had craved more than any drug in the world.

“Stay.”


End file.
